


Ink

by Eleana_Lee



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Thorin Is an Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleana_Lee/pseuds/Eleana_Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Thorin tries to write a letter to Bilbo</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, this is my first fic in this fandom, and my first fic in this site as well. Please be nice to me =)
> 
> I've yet to read the book, but I'm waiting for it now and it should be here soon. Most of my knowledge of canon occurrences come from reading other fics, so, yeah. Anyway, hope I haven't butchered the characters so.

Thorin stared blankly at the empty parchment on his desk, moving his pen back over the inkpot just in time to save said parchment from being dotted by a large drop of ink.  Sighing quietly, he rested his pen down and rubbed his face tiredly.  Truly, words were not his forte, more of his burglar’s, but shouldn’t he at least have a way with words, what with being a king and all?

 

He sighed again.  That would probably hold truer for a king who wasn’t in exile; who wasn’t forced to fight and labour for a scrap of food.  And truly, what was he thinking, calling the burglar _his_?  He had given all rights to call him his up after he threatened to kill him in his madness, and although Bilbo had forgiven him, he suspected it was only because the hobbit was too nice and would not hold a grudge against anyone.

 

He was sure that if the pale orc was to come knocking on his green door asking for forgiveness, he would have granted it too.

 

He sighed, _again_.  He seemed to be doing a lot of sighing lately, and his nephews told him that it made him seem fifty years older than he was.  He had cuffed both on the side of their heads after chasing them around the throne room to prove to them that he was _not_ old, thank you very much, but Oin tutted at him and told him to take it easy when he went to his chamber a couple of hours later complaining of back pain.

 

Comparing himself to the pale orc had only served to make him feel even more depressed.  He knew Bilbo knew that he wasn’t in his right mind when he banished him, but he hadn’t exactly made amends since then, which he still regretted, even until now, because the hobbit had left for home with Gandalf, the ever meddlesome wizard, without knowing the sincerity of his regrets.

 

He had pointedly ignored his sister’s insult (really, he was _not_ emotionally constipated, no matter how much she insisted that he was), but had gone through with her suggestion to write the burglar a letter, which would allow him more time to think of what to say, and allow him the opportunity to review what he had said before he sent it (her exact quote was “it’ll give you time to compose your words as well as you can, not that it is much at all, and I can read through it and make sure you have not said anything particularly offensive or anything that makes you seem like an arse to him” which was quickly followed by “still, I think he’s quite used to you being an arse already”).

 

He turned to the side, and met the gaze of the raven appointed to send his letter.  Even the raven was looking at him deprecatingly, and it took him all of his will power not to stab the raven with his pen.  Dis would break another axe over his head if he did.

 

In the end, it was Dwalin who got him to finally write the letter.  He reasoned that since the hobbit had stuck by them, even after Thorin threatened to throw him off the walls of their kingdom and saved their lives _yet again_ , he wouldn’t be put off by Thorin’s usual grumpiness.  He also pointed out that if he tried to write a sonnet-like letter, both of them would keel over and die; one from having exhausted their brain capacity, the other from complete and utter shock.

 

He didn’t even bother stopping himself from stabbing his best friend with his pen, and cackled in glee at the surprised shriek of pain.


End file.
